The Choice is Yours
by Steamy-x
Summary: A wicked obsession with Itachi leaves Deidara crushed when he finds the truth. Sasori does everything in his power to keep his partner from experiencing such a detestable feeling, but when push comes to shove, the only way to decide anything is face-to-face. [A terrible summary]


"Not good enough, un!" Deidara weaved the hand sign and detonated his uncooperative clay work. The debris pelted his face, but he disregarded the burns and molded the wet slime once more for thirty minutes nonstop. "Still not good enough!"

A hand ghosted over his cheek and was faked over as a wave from his partner, the only other who perceived life as true art. Though Deidara disagreed with his style, the two formed a workable bond.

"You're getting upset over something as simple as this." Sasori flicked a clay bird, causing the white frame to fall on its side and collapse. "This is beyond pathetic, Deidara."

The bomber threw all his tools to the ground, using his arm to wipe everything off his desk and onto the wooden floor. He exploded the clay into harmless smoke as he started over from scratch. His nails scratched his fingers in an attempt to align one wing with another, and the blood mixed with the white frame.

Of all the times it could've chosen, the clay decided _now_ would be the best time to unravel and fail to stand on its own. His hands ached from the repeated movement, and his eyes, having darted left and right and left again, begged to close. Deidara splashed cold water on his face and engaged in his work with temporary energy.

Sasori breathed sharply, his eyebrow twitching. "You'll exert yourself and won't be able to complete any incoming missions," he said. "As a matter of fact, Pain has a mission assigned to us. It's something even someone like you could handle."

The bomber finally stood straight, stretching both ways to receive a satisfying pop. He sighed and put his hands on his hips, admiring the messy workspace. Deidara crossed his arms and tapped his bruised finger against his forearm, eyeing the piece of work carefully. Now would be the worst of times for his eyes to betray him. There was a flaw. Somewhere in his work, there was a flaw. Something he could easily fix, but he couldn't find.

"Sasori, my man, do you see anything wrong with it?"

"I see a few things wrong with _you_ , if that's what you're asking," the redhead muttered.

Deidara hummed and glanced to his side. "Relax, un. You're getting upset over something as simple as this." He closed his eyes as his partner exploded, relishing in the shouts and yells ensued.

"I'll turn you into a puppet and force you to dance!"

The blond pretended to check his nails. "Is that why you came in here?"

Sasori stammered and cleared his throat. "Seeing as you're busy right now," he started, and then glanced at the bomber's mangled fingers and dirtied hands. "and you can hardly do for yourself right now, I'm offering to prepare dinner." His eyebrow twitched, and he threw his head up when no answer came.

"You want to cook, Sasori?" Deidara seemed almost ecstatic. "You want to cook? For me? That's a first, un."

Coughing into his hand, Sasori whirled around, cracking his cloak in the air, and marched out of the workspace. He needn't any of Deidara's petty shenanigans. Besides, he had to find something cook in the rundown organization.

His eyes danced through the cupboards for something simple to prepare. Regardless, his partner would come out, picky and critical. Sasori held his last bit of hope in the final cabinet and gasped. A single, dusty can of - he blew away dust - sliced peaches.

That was it. There was no hope. He wouldn't be able to make dinner no matter how badly he wanted to. Sasori sighed and went to bother a certain miser about low resources when he caught sight of his partner fixing to knock on Itachi's door.

"Ita―"

 _Shit._ His partner heard, and he heard well.

A moan sounded from behind the door, and though muffled, still audible. Sasori started to run to his partner's side but decided against it. Deidara needed space if he wanted to get his airhead out of the clouds.

Sasori tugged his collar and gulped. He and Deidara weren't in the same room, but the tension leaked through the walls. His mind fought against him, forcing him to believe his partner needed be left alone to get over his obvious rejection.

Before that, however, he went to bother the tentacled immortal of troubling stocks.

"Low on food again, I see." Kakuzu released his slimy tentacles. "That's too bad. I'm not running another bounty until Hidan finishes his memorial sacrifice. And it takes the entire day to finish. Besides, you don't eat anyway."

Sasori nodded. "The food isn't for me."

"Like I said, that's too bad. Come to me later if you see a guy dressed in all black."

Sasori was never too picky with certain things, so he believed he deserved just this _one_ favor of a decent meal. It'd been about twenty years since he felt as generous as he had now. To say the least, he was pissed.

He didn't care anymore as he yanked fish sticks from the freezer and pulled out sushi of all kind. Fish or not, he threw it in the boiling pot. It had also been a while since he last cooked. Or tasted anything, for that matter. His eyes went aflame as he added too much pepper and too little salt.

Despite being a puppet, he put his finger in the pot and tasted the lumpy soup, or perhaps it was a watery goop. If he put the mess in the oven, maybe it'd cook properly. He threw out the remaining junk still in the oven and slid the pot inside. A smile spread over his face. He was sure everything was going well.

Meanwhile, Deidara continued bouncing the same piece of clay off and on the wall. He still couldn't believe it. With their completely controversial personalities, one would think Kisame and Itachi could never bring themselves together romantically. The bomber exploded, stomping around his room and shouting things he never knew he could say. All his hard work, blood, sweat and tears, wasted. And for what? To get turned down.

"Dammit!" he muttered, destroying yet another work of art. "Damn it all!"

The only outcome he could think of was rejection. The chances of Itachi having a change of heart and loving him was one in a billion. Hell, probably a lot smaller than that.

His partner, unfortunately, was the only one who understood him, but even so, Deidara couldn't find it in him to confide in the gentleman. It was out of character, so he simply put on his best poker face and walked in the kitchen, hands intertwined behind his head. A burning, metallic smell drifted in his nose, and he opened the oven, receiving a face full of smoke.

"Sasori!" he said. He groaned and slid on the mittens, wincing as the heat overwhelmed the thin cotton. "Why the hell did you put a _pot_ in the oven, un?"

The redhead rounded around the corner and eyed the heavy smoke. "I don't normally cook."

Deidara coughed, waving the smoke out his face as he placed the burnt food on the stove. His eye twitched at the bubbling… He couldn't quite figure out what the food was meant to be. Instead of exploding and going on a rampage, Deidara sighed. His frustration and, dare he say, depression went into that one breath.

"My good man, un," he muttered, keeping his voice low as he turned around to face the unphased puppet. "I like to think we're friends. But when you do things I _know_ you have the capability of understanding, it drives me a little insane, yeah."

Sasori raised a brow at his usually outrageous partner. The darker, more malicious side didn't fit his persona. "Are you honestly upset I messed up dinner?"

"Yes," he whispered.

The puppet crossed his arms. "I'm having a hard time believing such an obvious lie. Something else happened."

"I was so… hungry, un." Deidara took slow steps towards his partner, balling his fists and keeping his head tucked. "My dinner. It's all ruined now. I can't eat. What else am I supposed to do? Starve? I hate starving, un. It really… It hurts. So bad."

Sasori kept his raging hormones under control as he let the blond rest his head on his shoulder. Between the two of them, neither showed much emotion, besides the occasional annoyance. The puppet didn't pull him into a hug, his mind had already hated the twisted affection. His partner didn't make a sound, and he didn't say anything.

On the other hand, Sasori found himself wanting to wrap his arms around the blond. And hold him. And cherish their small moments. And constantly bicker over pointless matters. And purposely teeter with the other's experiments.

His arms moved on their own and pulled Deidara close. He couldn't exactly feel the warmth, but he knew it was there. His partner froze and gasped but never made a move to escape the hug.

"Deidara," he said. "Sooner or later, you need to understand that not everyone will accept everything. Some will fool around with said object, eventually throwing it away, never to be found again. However, others will find that small bird, watching as it tries to fly. But until that person helps the bird to the air, it's flightless.

"As time passes, the bird is weak, helpless. That person crosses again, watching. This time, he helps the creature soar, and it never stops soaring. Do you understand, Deidara?"

The bomber sighed, still locked in Sasori's embrace. "I didn't understand a thing you said, un."

"I didn't expect you to." Sasori took a deep breath of his partner's scent, sighing as the light fragrance basked away. "It isn't a very popular metaphor."

Deidara didn't know what to do with his hands as the redhead continued to hold him in the seemingly harmless position. He recalled the subtle movements from earlier. When his partner walked in his workspace about a half hour ago, their hands rubbed against each other's, and Sasori pretended to wave.

And then came his rare moments of care, as he warned Deidara about hurting his hands. His voice rose an octave at the time, meaning he really _did_ care. Unlike Itachi.

His eyes burned, and he closed them to prevent tears. The wall between his bombarding emotions and will to stay strong clashed. And sooner than he would have liked, he cried.

Sasori even offered to make dinner for him, regardless of his inability to cook.

Deidara gasped.

"You knew…" he said.

Sasori remained silent.

Deidara shoved himself from the embrace. "You knew what was going on between Itachi and Kisame, but you didn't even _tell_ me. You _wanted_ me to get rejected!"

The redhead sighed. "Those weren't my intentions."

"Then what were they, un?" he shouted. "You fucking _knew_! How the hell can I trust your 'intentions' when I can't even trust _you_?"

Sasori pinched the bridge of his nose. "You needed to understand. I couldn't make you."

"Understand what? Because whatever it is, it's obviously more important than any kind of trust we ever had."

"Deidara―"

"Shut up, you little shit!"

The puppet prodded Deidara's chest. "You wouldn't listen to anything I said! Every time I tried to warn you about your obsession, your head went straight through Itachi's ass! I told you every day to give up, that you'd get hurt. Obviously, you didn't want to understand, so I let you have what you craved firsthand."

Deidara shook his head, facing the ground. "You don't know what it feels like."

"To be rejected?" Sasori gave a sad smirk. "I've experienced it once before. One way or another, you'll have to feel that crippling pain. There's no escape."

"Who… Who rejected you?" the bomber seemed almost depressed to hear the answer.

"It's a trial of failures, really." Sasori closed his eyes and sighed. "You're the judge, Deidara."

"What?"

"The choice is yours," he explained. "Either way, someone gets hurt. I hope you make the right decision."

Deidara bit his lip and tucked his head. "I just… I don't feel that way. About you."

The puppet smiled. Behind that fake grin laid his destroyed hopes. He didn't move, even when five minutes passed. His eyes didn't recall any movement around him. Everything was… void. The small amount of feelings he held were obliterated in a matter of seconds. Unreal would be the best way to describe it, but even then, the word was minimal, barely scraping the emotional pain.

Rejection felt worse than he remembered. A spear straight through the heart would be the fluffiest and sweetest way to describe how he felt. When he swallowed, nothing would move, like his body automatically shut itself down. He should have continued watching and loving from a distance because pain this great should never exist.

A day later, Sasori fought his grandmother and never returned home.

 **Not my best work, I understand. I'm terrible when it comes to writing romance, as you can probably tell. I'm a lost cause, honestly.**

 **Be a dear and write your thoughts and opinions in the review section. I know for a fact most of them will be heinous, but I'm a tough cookie. Any ideas? Write 'em in the review section.**

 **Thanks for reading! =D**


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